


Safeword

by buttercups3



Series: Bonding Lessons [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Established Miloe, Established RM2, F/F, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Republic years, fmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the Trenton Campaign, Bass has known that, on occasion, Miles likes to be dominated. But since they started sharing their bed with Rachel in Philadelphia, things have gotten more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safeword

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested in the origins of the boys’ adventures in bondage, check out my earlier story The Last Campaign, http://archiveofourown.org/works/861376. 
> 
> Also this is long and un-betaed, so I do apologize for any typos or sloppiness.

Miles could be a child, naked as he was born, tucked in the fetal position for warmth, the crackling fire from across the room just toasting his shins and chest. But this scene is much tawdrier at closer glance. With arms suspended overhead, wrists bound rawly together, and a length of rope fastening it all to Bass’ headboard, Miles has been the recent and willing victim of some very nimble fingers.

The prisoner attempts for the umpteenth time to swallow the cotton lump in his throat. Deprived of sight and speech – the work of blindfold and gag – he has no idea where Bass is perched, can’t hear him breathing or inhale the telltale lemony-leather. Miles hears only the thundering of his blood and the incessant, grating inner-monologue that has been tormenting him for months: _You miserable prick, you fucked over your family – Rachel, Ben, and those kids, Christ, the **kids** – and all for Bass, who isn’t even sane._ But hell, if Bass is mad, than Miles is madder for putting his complete trust in his best friend to deliver him from his demons. And this is hardly the first time Miles has hung here in humiliating limbo, arm-muscles screaming, dick straining, completely subject to Bass’ mercurial ( _exhilarating_ ) will.

With perfect composure, Bass regards Miles from across the room, hands folded in his lap, just resting against the hard on pressed beneath the wool trousers of his uniform. He hasn’t punished Miles like this for at least a year – certainly not since they opened their beds (and more dangerously, their hearts) to Rachel Matheson.

This used to feel simple: every now and then Miles’ job – the thousands of little decisions he makes each day as general – overwhelm him, and he requires Bass to tie him up and set him free. Miles’ guilt, his Herculean self-hate must to be periodically expunged, because the Monroe Republic isn’t built on battle wins or brute force; it’s built, in fact, upon two men’s love for one another and for their country. And the man who loathes himself cannot very well love others. So the work Bass is doing here tonight? It’s a matter of national security.

Bass snorts aloud at that and feels his dick twitch. Miles tied up in the golden glow of post-apocalyptic firestorm may very well be his favorite sight in the world. He could come in his pants without even touching himself, if he were so inclined. He isn’t.

Thanks to Bass’ snort, the sensory-vacant Miles has located his beau. Instinctively, Miles’ pelvis shifts in the direction of potential human contact like a plant to a distant sunbeam. But Miles can’t beg, and so he waits.

_Yes, Miles. Anticipation is good_ , Bass muses, as he watches Miles’ fur-trimmed abs puff in and out just above the tiny peep of dick visible beyond the slim hip. Miles is deliciously puckered in gooseflesh; Bass could suck on every pore. He won’t.

Both men jump at the brisk knock at the door. Miles’ muffled voice attempts to object. Of course, Miles is nervous – he’s completely prostrate. As Bass passes by him, he gives the perky bum a reassuring smack.

“Just be quiet and calm. I’ll send whoever it is away,” Bass intones evenly.

Halfway to the door, Bass remembers who it is. He’d asked Rachel’s guard to bring her here at 2200, and here she is, right on time. _Dammit._ Now he’s got to make a decision for Miles. Even though control is the name of the game, this does feel like pushing the boundary of consent.

The president slips out the crack in the door and with him escapes nearly all the warmth of the nest he’s built with Miles. Rachel’s guard holds a lantern in one hand and her chains in the other.

“Rachel,” Bass greets curtly. “Barney, you’re dismissed. Leave me the key to her cuffs.”

The weasel-snouted man nods, relinquishes the key, and disappears down the long hall into the shadows, as if he’s passed into another dimension. Now Rachel is left on their special plane – Bass and Miles’ – and the question is, _Should she stay?_

Rachel’s lips curl into whip-smart smirk. At this time of night and with the dismissal of her guard, Bass can only intend one thing: sex. It’s an odd arrangement that she endures. Sometimes one of the boys will call her to his room alone, and other times they’ll fuck, all three of them. Even Rachel has the privilege to request one or both of their presences in her chambers, though they don’t always come. (They are very important people in the Republic, of course, _busy, busy_.) Tonight she’s eager for Bass, her panties soaked through. To be honest, sex is about the only thing to which Rachel can look forward in her sad, circumscribed existence.

Bass’ lively blues penetrate her steadily until at long last she inquires, “Bass, don’t keep me in suspense. Are you going to take me in your room and have your way with me, or are we going to stand in this drafty hall all night?” Her words are punctuated conveniently with a shiver. “I could use a nightcap by your fire.”

Bass doesn’t blink. He’s decided: Miles has already surrendered himself, but Rachel hasn’t. Her complicity is paramount.

Unlocking her shackles with his key, he explains, “Things are different tonight, and I need to know if you can handle it. I’m going to open the door and show you, but I need you to be completely silent – no footfall, no breathing. If you agree to participate, raise one finger. If you don’t, then raise two, and I’ll take you immediately back to your room. You understand?” He skims his fingers over her dainty wrists, where the sweat has collected in tiny beads from her bonds.

Rachel has no idea what she’s walking into, but she simply cannot resist this level of intrigue in her otherwise monotonous life. After she nods, Bass presses a finger to his lips, and she gulps at the idea of those lips on her stomach.

As Bass well knows, the point of tying Miles up and fucking him within a whit of hysteria is _release_. If Rachel disrupts this ritual, she could ruin Miles’ trust in Bass forever. Unsure of why he’d take this risk, Bass turns the brass handle of the door and guides her in.

_Holy fuck_. Rachel has to shove a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp at Miles’ arms tied above his head, exposing his dark-haired armpit, his scarred back to her, goose-fleshed skin resplendent in fire- and candle-light. It’s wildly arousing. She has drenched her jeans and involuntarily grasps Bass’ rock-hard bicep to steady herself.

At first, Bass fears she is disgusted, but as he studies her face, he realizes she – Rachel, the scientist – is fascinated. And he can’t blame her. Miles is so defensive and prickly, but when you strip him down and take his power, he’s just a raw, open wound. You want so desperately to suck on him, to draw out his poison and make him whole again.

With her free hand, Rachel slowly extends one finger, and Bass nods, softly latching the door. He leans forward to kiss the pad of her finger.

“Miles,” Bass announces then, strong and clear. “Rachel’s here.”

Miles’ stomach drops in betrayal. He twists sideways to try to display his displeasure.

“Hear me out, brother,” Bass continues. “I think she can help. You’re especially uptight tonight. We haven’t done this in a year, and you need this now. Rachel knows you very well, and she’s eager to punish you.” Bass quirks a half-smile at her.

_Shit._ Rachel might be in over her head. She’s not quite sure what to say, but the idea of punishing Miles is suddenly so titillating that she’s willing to go out on a limb.

“Miles. You’re mine as much as Bass’.”

Bass scoffs lightly. “We’ll see about that.” He pats her on the cheek one shade shy of a slap.

Over the course of a tense minute, they watch Miles wage a fierce internal struggle. Finally, he forcibly releases the muscles in his shoulders, his back, his legs. He appears to have accepted his captors.

“Rachel, why don’t you undress, _except_ those high leather boots. They’re very fucking dom. Are you sure you don’t do this often?” Bass nips at her chin.  

She tosses her hair right into his face. “I expect you’ll be undressing as well?”

“Of course. Oh, and there’s a cock ring in the top drawer of my nightstand you can cork our little slut with. He doesn’t come until we’re done. And one more thing,” Bass catches her wrist and presses it lightly to his lips. “Our safeword is _Bass_.”

“Rather arrogant.”

“Well, he’s my bitch. Yours too for tonight. _Bass_ means you’re crossing a line that he might be able to accept if you proceed with caution. To end everything outright, we use something different. How about _Rachel_? You hear that, Miles? If you say _Rachel_ , we stop cold.”

Miles listens as they discuss him, feeling disembodied and yet cared for. Rachel’s involvement excites and agitates. In some ( _many?_ ) ways, Rachel isn’t so different from Bass – their twin azure eyes and blonde locks, their insistence on being at the center of the universe (though they’d both deny it). But Rachel doesn’t know Miles’ body like Bass does, and this game is about probing and overcoming limits. It’s amazing how far Bass has pushed Miles physically and emotionally. Bass has fucked Miles’ throat till he sobbed; Bass has fisted him. Miles never imagined he could take that. It ached horribly at the time, but for weeks afterward he’d felt like he was high on muscle relaxants and ecstasy. It’s a little sick, the things Miles is grateful for.

Now Rachel’s going to know it all, and the thing Miles is most afraid of? The holding afterward. That’s the most intimate thing Miles and Bass ever do, when Miles is cracked open and luridly dripping, and Bass is God’s perfect egotist at peace. They belong to one another. They can and will switch roles in the daylight, but this reversal is – _was_ – their secret.

Suddenly, smooth fingers migrate over Miles’ erection. It’s Rachel. If it were Bass, his callouses would catch on Miles’ cockhead, but Rachel skims over it like satin. The knowledge that his dick won’t be allowed release for quite some time after receiving the cock ring compels him into her touch.

Down Rachel plunges the cold, metal ring, appreciating the penis’ tiny twitch of distress. Wetness trickles down her thighs in answer.

She’s trying to understand this thing that’s happening. She’d always assumed it was Bass who was unstable, liable to snap. In their prior threesomes, Miles often called the shots – flung their bodies around with big hands and plunged his meaty cock into them like he owned them. But perhaps this makes more sense – Bass cannot hide his emotional gymnastics and breaks constantly, making it no big thing. Miles, alternately, can scarcely stand to acknowledge he has feelings at all; if he broke, the damage would be irreparable. So Bass has found a way to allow Miles to become pure physicality. It’s… _kind_ is what it is. Frankly, she’s amazed at Bass, feels almost privileged to be here. It’s the strangest night in which she’s ever partaken, and it’s only just beginning.

“Ungag him,” Bass orders from across the room, as he folds his clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. 

Rachel briefly takes in the sight of Bass’ gorgeous northward boner and hides a smile. As she extends her body along Miles to collect his gag, she just grazes his outside arm with her nipple, relishing the transition from arm hair to smooth, dark-inked bicep. When she dips a finger between her legs to smear her juices on his lips, his tongue darts out hungrily. It’s surprisingly satisfying to be so savored.

The citrusy-sweat heat of Bass is suddenly behind her, rough hands sliding up her stomach to squeeze her breasts. “Oh now, Miles, she’s already given you a taste, and you didn’t even thank her. That’s a bad boy.” Bass reaches down with one hand to swat Miles’ ensnared erection hard enough to elicit a hiss through bit lips.

“Thank you,” Miles mutters obediently. 

Rachel’s ovaries tangle; her uterus twists. Turning to face Bass, she grabs for his dick and nuzzles into his scratchy neck.

“You like it?” Bass whispers, rubbing his hardness into her fingers.

“Yeah,” she purrs and then laughs at herself, because when has she ever purred? Is Bass in control of her, too? That would be most unwise.

Bass pulls her into his lips and sucks wetly for Miles’ auditory pleasure. He doesn’t want to neglect his slave, and yet Rachel’s knowledgeable fingers knead him to the point of distraction. 

When he finally pulls away, he asks her, “Shall we?” and with her hand in his, mounts the bed like he’s planning on planting a flag on Miles’ ass. He’s pleased when she lets go to stand before Miles’ crotch, jamming the heel of her boot into its softness.

“Ahh!” Miles objects.

Bass nods with approval. “You’re good at this.”

She digs in harder still until she feels the tender squish of balls, and Miles’ desperate puff.

“Now, bitch,” Bass instructs Miles with a twinkle in his eye at Rachel, “You only _answer_ questions. Got it?”

“Yes,” comes the strangled voice.

“You understand your safewords?”

“Yes.”

Bass extends the fingers of his left hand up toward Rachel’s considerable height, and she drips spit in his direction. Most of the saliva misses and dribbles down Miles’ hip into his buttocks, but Bass doesn’t seem to mind. He immediately shoves two fingers straight into Miles’ hole.

Miles jerks violently, emitting a tiny cry of pain. Rachel’s chest tightens at the sound, and she caresses his genitals with the tread of her boot, trying for soothing but probably achieving abuse. 

Thrusting his large fingers in and out, Bass asks, “Miles, what have you been feeling so guilty about lately? Tell us, so we can take it away.” He relishes the slimy intimacy of the inside of Miles.

“Ah!” Miles winces, because Bass has added a third finger without warning.

Miles sniffs rather privately, and Rachel wonders if his eyes are watering under his blindfold.

“He’s not responding in a timely manner. Bite him,” Bass suggests casually with a shrug, twisting his fingers some more.

In an instant, Rachel has dropped to her knees and sideways bites the shaft of Miles’ penis – not hard enough to break skin but enough to elicit a forceful yelp. After lightly kissing his tip, she urges, “Answer the question, Miles.”

Miles mumbles, “I can’t say it.”

“You must,” Bass asserts.

“No – I _can’t_ say it, because you’ll stop if I do. It’s my safeword.” Miles is so over-stimulated – cock searing from Rachel’s teeth and asshole from Bass’ fingers – that he grits his teeth against the explanation and hopes they can discern his meaning.

So abruptly does Bass remove his fingers that Miles lurches upward, and Rachel has to hold him down to prevent a jaw-cracking collision with his hip.

“Oh,” Bass realizes. “It’s her that has you tied up in knots?” He and Rachel lock eyes now, as guilt spreads in Bass’ stomach. Perhaps he _should_ have asked Miles.

“Yes,” Miles confirms.

“Take off his blindfold,” Bass instructs Rachel in a quieter voice.

Miles shivers when her breasts tickle his chest hair. His arms are starting to shake from the strain of being stretched. Plunged suddenly into dim light, he blinks hard until he’s staring into Rachel’s bottomless blue eyes.

“Miles, did you want to say something to her? Go ahead. You can speak freely,” comes Bass’ self-assured voice. 

Bass lays his cheek against Miles’ ribs, radiating warmth. And so Miles says it:

“I, uh…I’m sorry I brought you here. I never wanted to see you, of all people, hurt.”

Rachel furrows her brow. The sex she was prepared for, but this? Tenderness is swiftly supplanted by ire.

But Bass appears to be out ahead of the potential conflict, eerily prescient in this space – more in control of his own emotions than she’s ever seen him (not to mention theirs). “Well, it’s a good thing Rachel came here tonight, Miles,” he lifts his head from it’s bony pillow. “Rachel, Miles wants you to punish him for what he’s done wrong. There’s a riding crop in the same drawer you got the ring from.”

Extraordinary that Bass can pretend only Miles is to blame, and yet Rachel finds she is grateful to receive a concrete task. Descending upon the nightstand again, she blunders around in the mahogany drawer until she senses leather. As she struts back to Miles’ front, Bass crouches at her feet, unzipping her boots in two long strokes and helping her to step out of them. Then he guides his fingers up the inside of her right thigh and straight into her swollen folds. 

She throws her head back in rapture before catching herself and cringing: “I hope those aren’t the fingers you dirtied on him.” Is it her imagination, or do Miles’ brown eyes look wounded? They dart away.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Bass smiles at Miles, also noticing his disquiet.

Miles fights a swell of jealousy at the sight of Bass’ fingers disappearing inside of Rachel, the other hand gathering her hair into a ponytail, but quickly braces himself when the whip is raised. He yelps as its acid rips across his chest and his sensitive armpit. She strikes directly on his nipples, and then, brutally, whips his cock from the balls up. He bites down hard enough to taste pennies.

“Harder,” Bass urges, thumbing Rachel’s clit, as she whips Miles’ erection back and forth.

“Bass!” Miles finally exclaims, and Rachel immediately bends over to blow on his scarlet cock.

“Good work,” Bass congratulates her with a kiss on the nape, before letting her waves cascade down her back.

She does feel rather proud of herself. Miles deserved it, not least of which, because he _believed_ he did.

Bass approaches Miles to wipe the blood away from his torn lip. It’s evident by the taste and smell that Bass has used the dirty fingers. Miles tries to push down the nausea of being served up his own asshole.

“Oh, Miles. _I_ love the way you taste,” Bass appears to read the disgust off Miles’ face and leans in for an indulgent, tongue-smacking kiss.

When he pulls back, Bass lightly slaps Miles’ cheek and reaches for Rachel’s hand again. “You want to feel inside him? It’s nice and tight. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Startled by the offer, Rachel allows herself to be led around to the back of Miles, and the pair kneel together before his butt. She’s genuinely unsure about this, but Bass has an answer for everything:

“I have gloves if you don’t want to get your hands soiled by our little whore.”

Miles glances over his shoulder at her and for the first time tonight, she really digests his dark, melancholy eyes. She’s completely uncertain of what she’s seeing there. 

“Gloves cause more friction; it’ll do him some good,” Bass assures, smacking Miles’ ass and then petting it lovingly.

Bass retrieves a rubber kitchen glove – Rachel hasn’t seen one of those since before the Blackout – and he was not kidding about friction; this thing is brutally textured. Eying Miles’ vulnerable little pucker, she can’t help but feel sorry for it. Bass appears to have a secret stash of lube, at least, and douses her glove with the shimmering liquid. 

In he plunges a finger with an invitation: “Join me.”

_Jesus._ It looks way too small for another finger, but she manages to fight her way in. It’s close, slippery, foreign. She doesn’t _dislike_ it. It is rather sexy to feel Miles quivering around both of them at once. She imagines this is what sharing _her_ feels like. Bass pulls out his finger, and then she’s on her own.

“If you push in deeper, you can feel his prostate.”

“How will I know?”

“He’ll let you know.”

She searches Miles, twisting around and chanting internally, _I’m inside Miles_. Finally, Miles clenches down with a gasp.

“You found it,” Bass confirms, flashing his white teeth.

She’s never made Miles whimper and writhe like this before. For a minute, she completely owns his body.

Finally, she evacuates and discards the glove, reaching for Bass’ erection and pulling it toward Miles’ hole. Bass stays her wrist and breathes, “We don’t break our toys.” He lubes himself liberally before pushing in.

To the wanton sounds of un-Miles-like moaning, Rachel rolls over Miles' big body and guides his bright red cock into her folds. But she’s grown so loose and wet that even this sizable dick isn’t enough.

“Bass,” she complains.

Clearly, Bass has reached the point where he’s distracted by his own release – his dark blonde eyelashes squeezed together – but he flails a hand in her direction, and she shoves it against her clit. Balls-deep inside of Miles, each of Bass’ thrusts catapults Miles bluntly against her cervix.

Miles is stuffed to the breaking point. Bass feels unspeakably huge tonight, while Miles’ dick is under such pressure from the cruel cock ring that he could go hysterical. He longs for his tormenters to come and just let him extinguish. He feels less than human – their empty pot.

Rachel’s muscles wind up and wrench out a powerful spasm of release that must agonize Miles’ restrained penis. She’s loud – _really_ loud. She doesn’t even recognize her own voice.

Bass discerns the force of Rachel’s orgasm through Miles’ body, which plunges him to a violent end, pumping cum as far inside Miles as he can possibly strain, balls ticking, seizing. He’s leaving fingerprints all over Miles’ perfect ass and swearing a blue streak _._ He deflates into Miles’ back, panting.

As Bass slithers out of Miles’ rear and Rachel evicts him, Miles doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic. His wrists and arms are about to secede from his torso, and he’s pretty sure blood stopped flowing to his dick minutes ago. He’s in wild pain and generalized misery. It’s always like this at the end. Right now it doesn’t seem worth it, but it will.

Miles whimpers, “Bass.” His cheeks are wet.

Bass drapes his chiseled torso over Miles’ arm and vibrates in Miles’ ear, “What is it, babe?”

“Please let me go.” 

“Okay,” Bass kisses the adjacent earlobe and unties Miles’ wrists. “Take off the ring, Rachel.” 

If it weren’t for her juices, she mightn’t be able to get it off, it’s grown so tight. Poor thing; a minute longer, and it might have turned blue. 

Bass grins like he knows what she’s thinking. “Don’t worry – it’s been less than 30 minutes. I wouldn’t compromise that particular appendage. I’m far too fond of it.”

In any case, she massages it a little to improve the blood flow, and Miles thrusts with weary appreciation into her hand.

Smoothing Miles’ damp hair from his face, Bass instructs, “Lie on your back now.” 

Miles allows himself to be guided backwards, as Bass’ seed trickles out onto the sheets.

“He’s really easy to finish like this, so be gentle,” Bass tells Rachel, brushing her ample waves off her shoulder. She nods. They hover together over Miles’ erection and just breath on it. It bounces in anticipation. Then, they commence licking, occasionally bumping tongues.

Finally, Bass lightly grasps its base and jacks it upward, pearly cum spritzing into their mouths and noses.

Miles moans into a freefall with no end. There is nothing left in him when the warm mouths take turns sucking, licking him clean. He shivers over and over until they join him at the head of the bed – sweaty, salty, spent.

Rachel plops on Miles’ shoulder and Bass gathers him under a spicy-scented arm. Miles won’t be opening his eyes again tonight.

“Thanks,” he mumbles to whoever cares. At times like these, he hopes he’ll never wake up to be general of the militia again.

Rachel is slurring something into his chest. “Though I certainly didn’t want it to stop, I’m a little bummed I didn’t get to hear you say _my_ name.”

“Rachel,” Miles murmurs as he drifts off with one last shudder. He might already be dreaming when Bass tells him he loves him.


End file.
